


callisto

by fiverivers



Series: hera [2]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, I have no idea what or how to tag y'all, Jealousy, Pining, Unrequited Love, post 6x04
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-28
Updated: 2019-05-28
Packaged: 2020-03-26 13:36:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19006852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fiverivers/pseuds/fiverivers
Summary: Her people have failed her. She’s been worshipped but it’s never been like this. The veneration, the devotion—it’s pure, incorruptible, and boundless. Her heart plunges when she remembers her father’s plan to purge these people tonight. She can’t give this up. She won’t.(Josephine wants what Bellamy and Clarke have.)





	callisto

Josephine’s father is livid. A guard had seen her with Bellamy and reported back to him. He's been yelling for hours. Calling her reckless and stupid for putting herself and her fellow Primes at risk. He warns her away from Clarke’s people. They are perceptive and deeply loyal to one another. Clarke and Bellamy—they were two parts of a whole. He’ll know.

She can’t find it in her heart to be sorry. The flush on Bellamy’s cheeks had been worth much more than her father’s ire. He had stammered and stumbled away, told her Madi was looking for her.

Clarke’s daughter. Josephine pulls and twirls her hair, struggling to keep the distaste off her face. Josephine hadn’t had a choice but to go looking for Clarke’s daughter. The girl had run into her arms.

“Are you listening, Josie?” Josephine nods absently, only half listening to him. “You need to be careful. I spoke with Priya. She’s concerned there might some side effects because Clarke was a nonbeliever, because she was unwilling when she was Named.”

“I think Priya might be right.” She remembers wrapping her arms around Madi, smoothing the hair on her head, and kissing her forehead.  It had felt oddly natural in the moment and something had punched at the inside of her skull.

Her father jolts upright, grabs Josephine’s shoulders and forces her to face him. “Josephine.” He says seriously. “Tell me.”

She shrugs. “I felt like I knew her daughter.” The warmth when she saw the girl is gone now but the memory lingers.

Russell swears, rubs a hand down his face. “We may need to eliminate them soon then. Maybe tonight.” Josephine frowns. Unfortunate. She won’t get to have much more fun with Bellamy.

His face twists with remorse. “We don’t want unnecessary violence. These people just wanted to start over.”

Josephine cannot help but roll her eyes. She dislikes when her father gets theatrical and sanctimonious.

He continues, thinks her blank look is rapt attention. “We are the Primes, Josie.” He continues seriously. “We must always be merciful. It is our duty. Fates gave us immortality and allowed you to be brought back to us because of our benevolence to our people.” 

Josephine thinks that’s bullshit, but she does not give any indication. She doesn’t want to fight with her father—not so soon after her resurrection. But she knows, in her heart, that altruism isn’t necessary. They are gods. Undying. Eternal. They can do whatever they wish; the others are blessed to be in their presence. But he can keep his delusions about the burdens of gods.

“Of course, dad.” She leans forward, kissing her father on the cheek. Her tone is monotonous, dull, and clearly dismissive, but he never notices.

* * *

Josephine wants to see Bellamy again. Thinks she might be able to fuck him before they’re all sent to die tonight. 

She finds him on the roof of the bar, looking out at the forest. He looks sad, wistful and an unfamiliar feeling twists in her chest. She doesn’t like it; thinks back to her father’s warnings about Clarke’s consciousness.

“Hey Clarke.” Josephine startles when Bellamy looks at her. His eyes are bright as ever.

“Hey,” she replies softly. The quietness, the kindness—it’s not Josephine and alarm bells are sounding in her head.

“Do you think Octavia is dead?” His despair turns her stomach and her body is moving instinctively; she pulls him into a hug. 

It’s like her whole body has been plunged underwater. Josephine inhales unsteadily when his arms tighten around her waist and he buries his face in her neck.

It’s too much. She can’t breathe. She stumbles back a step, breathes deep. She still can’t breathe.

Bellamy’s eyebrows furrow in concern, while Josephine struggles to breathe. He cradles her face, drawing her eyes to his. His despair melts away quickly, morphing into panic, “Clarke?”

Josephine closes her eyes, enjoys the warmth of his hands on her face. She can breathe again, in his arms. She breathes in deep, like she is tasting air for the first time.

Clarke loved him. It suffocated her. A barrage of memories accompanied by emotions that are not hers consume her. Guilt, anger, grief, and the fiercest of all: _love_.

It’s foreign and powerful and overwhelming. Closing her eyes, she takes in another shaky breath, exhales slowly. She’s drunk on it. After centuries alive, new is rare and the warmth settling in her chest isn’t anything she’s ever experienced before.  

Her heart slows and when she opens her eyes, he is staring at her, concerned. He pulls away from her, somewhat reluctantly. The thrumming in her veins has waned to a soft hum and it’s fading into nothing fast.  She needs to feel his hands on her skin again.

He’s still watching her, anxious, his fingers twitching at his sides. Josephine sees his hesitation and blinks hard, feigned tears forming in the corners of her eyes. “Sorry. It’s just been a lot.”

It’s vague, but it does the trick. His expression falls and he tugs her close, resting his chin on her head. He’s saying something, but it’s all white noise. She’s trapped against his chest and her whole body is aflame. She clutches the back of his chest, burying her face deeper into his chest. It’s a euphoria, a peace that refutes centuries of a seemingly divine, revered existence.

_Two hundred and eighty-three lives for one. She must be pretty important to you._

_She is._  

Her people have failed her. She’s been worshipped but it’s never been like this. The veneration, the devotion—it’s pure, incorruptible, and boundless. Her heart plunges when she remembers her father’s plan to purge these people tonight. She can’t give this up. She won’t. 

An unwelcomed voice calls for Bellamy and he recoils from Josephine immediately. A woman she distantly recalls from the drawings comes up the stairs and fits herself to Bellamy’s side, kissing him on the mouth.

She looks between them and feels white-hot rage. _This_ is a familiar feeling; she’s always been possessive and greedy.

The longing and envy is Clarke’s, but the manifestation of the feelings is wholly Josephine. The violent jealousy, the unadulterated fury. _These_ are recognizable emotions. She knows she should talk to her father, tell him that Clarke is slipping through the cracks. Tell him something went wrong when they put her inside Clarke. But she won’t. Her father is right. She is reckless and she is selfish. In this moment, even with Clarke’s voice dangerously loud in the back of her head, all Josephine can think of is having and keeping what is rightfully hers.

She smiles tightly and excuses herself before she guts the other woman for daring steal ( _he's hers_ , supplies the voice that’s not hers) from the altar of a Prime.

**Author's Note:**

> I sort of had a part two written but I wasn't sure if I was going to post but there was a lot more of a reaction to himeros than I was expecting so I was like "hell, why not?" 
> 
> This is a series rather than chaptered because this is so different from part one!


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